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jodilinbio · 2 months ago

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A couple of months after I got home and was about 19, I got a job at a concession stand in a movie theater at the mall. It was a total bore, and a very difficult job for me because I was never good with numbers. I had to do all the adding and subtracting in my head since we only had a money drawer—no cash register to tell us how much change to give customers. They laid me off after Christmas, but I think they were really firing me for not being able to count, and the boss lady was just being nice by saying “laid off.”

Next, I worked at McDonald’s, another boring job. However, there was a deaf girl working there, and I enjoyed signing with her.

By March of 1985, it was time to quit McDonald’s and return to a place where I had worked for a few months when I was sixteen before becoming a ward of the state. That was a hotel in Enfield, Connecticut, just over the state line and only minutes from the house. I worked there as a housekeeper. What I liked about the job was that I could work alone. I didn’t have to mingle with others except during breaks and lunch. We ate well at lunchtime too, because the food came from the hotel’s restaurant, and we could have as much as we wanted for free.

The housekeeping department had both a boss and a supervisor. The supervisor was usually the one who checked our rooms after we finished cleaning them. During my time there, I went through three sets of bosses and supervisors. The first boss was a guy whose name I can’t remember. The supervisor was a 60-year-old Canadian woman named Teresa, whom I remembered from when I had worked there a few years earlier. She died of cancer a few years later.

The second boss and supervisor were younger—Linda and Alison. Alison was just there, but Linda and I bonded. Not romantically, but we got along really well, and it was obvious that I was her favorite. In the end, I felt very led on and let down by her. After she quit to work at a hotel in Springfield, she promised to visit me at the apartment I had just moved into but never did. When I’d call her, she acted like I was an annoyance.

Tired of being lied to and led on by people, I lashed out in frustration, calling and hanging up late at night, despite knowing that her husband was a homicide detective. I know it was gross, mean, stupid, and immature but I – uh – well, I also mailed guinea pig droppings to her and ended up in court for these pranks, but nothing ever came of it.

The last pair to run the housekeeping department while I was there were Sandra and Norah and I had a crush on Norah from the get-go. She was from England and I loved her accent. She was probably about 30 and had dark eyes and shoulder-length dark hair. She was a bit short for my taste, but that didn’t matter much since she didn’t seem to like me anyway. She was very strict, and most people didn’t seem to like her at all. So why she claimed she’d see me outside of work was beyond me, and of course, we never did get together.

The two co-workers who stand out most in my memory are definitely Michelle and Paula. In fact, I later became friends with Paula. Eighteen-year-old Italian-Portuguese Paula was a little terror who wasn’t very bright and wasn’t there long before she was fired. Everyone was afraid of her, including me. I’d never have believed it back then if someone had told me we’d one day be friends for years despite our differences. Her twin brother, Paul, also worked there. He was pretty tame compared to his sister. Paula bullied almost everyone there, but for some reason, she never bothered me.

Before moving out on my own, my parents had enrolled me in a driving course. It took two tries to get my license. I never liked driving—it always made me uncomfortable. Knowing it was unlikely I’d ever conquer my phobia or afford a car anyway, I resorted to walking and taking buses.

I also took some sign language courses at the local college and at the Willie Ross School for the Deaf, thinking I might get a job involving signing. My mother got me a volunteer job through a friend that I absolutely hated. It was at a summer camp for mentally and physically challenged kids. The kids were totally wild and out of control. There was no reasoning with them or taming them, and I quickly realized I wasn’t cut out for that kind of work.

I had hoped that happiness and success would finally be mine now that I was on my own, but instead, for many years to come, loneliness and stupid mistakes would be my closest companions.

I moved out on my own the day before my 20th birthday in 1985, into a one-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a four-story brick building in Springfield. My mom furnished it with my grandparents’ old furniture. The building was owned by two brothers.

One of my biggest faults was being too nice, too trusting, and naïve. So when eighteen-year-old Michelle came to me one day at the hotel, begging me to take her in to escape her father, who she claimed was molesting her, I did, though she had to sleep on the couch. I thought I was helping her, but in fact, I was being used. She probably really was molested, but she seemed to think that gave her an excuse not to be fair when it came to chores and money.

Worse, she came between me and my brother. Michelle stayed with me for a couple of months. As soon as she met Larry, who was quite a womanizer, things changed. As the two of them became more involved, they started turning against me, invading my space and privacy.

One night, we all got high together before I finally kicked them both out of my life. It was the last time I ever touched a joint. It was a scary experience—my heart pounded like never before. I don’t know what was in that pot, but I really thought I was going to die of a heart attack that night!

There was a guy named Lloyd that I met somewhere, though I can’t remember where. Being too nice and unable to say no, I ended up in bed with him one night. We didn’t have sex, but he went down on me, and it was the first time someone made me orgasm. While that was all well and good, I regretted that it wasn’t with someone I was attracted to.

By this time, my brother hadn’t had any contact with our folks for a year or two, and I guess it was hard for him to be connected to anyone still in touch with them. That much I could understand, but I was tired of being used and trampled on by him and his little mistress.

I finally demanded that they both get the hell out. Larry looked at me, smiled, and said, “Make me.”

I tried just that by calling the cops, but they weren’t much help. They actually had the nerve to tell me they couldn’t make him leave simply because he was “family.”

“Oh, so that makes him God?” I said to the cops. “That makes it okay for him to be an unwanted guest in my own apartment? Would it also be okay if he killed me just because he’s my brother?”

“Just say the word,” Larry said to me one night, “and I’ll take Michelle to live with me, Sandy, and the kids.”

So after I took back the clothes that were mine while she was at his place one night, they came to pick up her stuff the next day.

Next came my biggest fight with Larry. All I can say is that the man is very lucky I didn’t handle things then the way I would now because I’d have attacked him viciously without caring if he kicked my ass in return.

He and Michelle were on their way over, and for some reason, my dad wanted to be present. Michelle had it in her mind that I owed her $17 for some reason. We argued over this and who knows what else. I don’t remember what Larry said to Dad, but I know he was close to attacking him. I was threatened too, and my response was, “You want to hit me? Do it. Don’t just sit around and threaten me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, and like a coward, I just stood there and said nothing. I totally regret this. While it may seem immature and silly, I sometimes wish he were here just long enough to threaten me so I could give him the surprise of his life. And I would, without the slightest hesitation! I’m much stronger and in much better shape now than I was back then. You could also say I’m more determined and even angrier in some ways.

Nonetheless, Dad finally said to Michelle pulling out his wallet, “You want $17? Here. Here’s $17.”

After they left, my father had me write him a check for $17, something I also regret. Dad took the easy way out, and I didn’t make or ask him to pay her.

For years, I seethed with rage whenever I remembered that night. I was furious with myself for not handling Larry differently for threatening me. Some people seemed to think they could do that whenever they felt like it simply because I was small—by this time, my weight was down to nearly 100 pounds.

I was also pissed at my father for telling me it would’ve been my fault if Larry had gone after him as if I would have been responsible for someone else’s actions.

I was furious with Michelle for her part in things but I was so incredibly furious with Larry for threatening me that I filed charges in court, which I later dropped. Larry kissed up to me until the charges were dropped, being oh-so-kind and sweet, but as soon as the charges were dropped, so was I. It would be the last I’d see of him for eight years. It was for the best, though, and I didn’t miss him either.

After sixteen months and nearly a forty-pound weight loss, I left the hotel. My past was beginning to take its toll on me, and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. It was getting harder and harder to pull myself out of bed in the mornings. Seeing Michelle at work every day didn’t help either.

I tried cleaning houses but couldn’t even handle that. I was having anxiety attacks, and it was getting harder to keep a schedule.

Soon, I was placed on Disability. I received two checks a month between Social Security and SSI checks. It wasn’t much, but it gave me some independence.

My memories of my neighbors there aren’t very good. The old lady above me was completely out of her mind. One night, when my phone wouldn’t work after I threw it against the wall in a fit of rage, I asked to use hers. After I used her phone, she got all pissed off and hysterical over nothing I could make sense of, so I left in a hurry, knowing I couldn’t count on her for help anymore.

The woman next to me had a jerk for a boyfriend. I’m very different now than I was back then. The things that scared me then would piss me off now. So when some guy was knocking on my window in the middle of the night, I panicked and went screaming hysterically next door. The neighborly help I received was her telling her boyfriend that I was crazy, and then him telling me he’d kick the little stray black dog I had taken in at the time if it didn’t quit sniffing at his feet. If I had been anything like I am today, I’d have kicked him!

Around this time, I realized I had to stop taking this kind of shit. If I just stood there and did nothing about the various threats I received, I’d only be sending the wrong message—one that said, “Go ahead, bully and threaten me because I won’t do a damn thing about it.” So from that day on, I was determined to stand up to these kinds of assholes because I was getting awfully tired of being pushed around. I felt I could really snap at any moment.

Anyway, I called the police about the window knocker, but he was long gone by the time they arrived, so there wasn’t much they could do other than offer to take me to a shelter. But I didn’t want to be run out of my own apartment. Jenny and her boyfriend stayed with me one night, but I knew they couldn’t stay with me every night and that I had to deal with it on my own. Besides, Jenny, being the wonderful “friend” that she was, didn’t want to “babysit” me anymore. Even June, Lori, and Lisa couldn’t have cared less when I tried reaching out to them.

Although I couldn’t prove it, I always suspected Larry and Michelle were behind the late-night window-knocking. Either way, I’d have reacted very differently as I got older. A few years later and I would have been pissed and gone out and confronted the asshole.

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scratchybeardsweetmouth · 1 year ago

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SPOILER ALERT FOR 'CALL OF THE SEA'

so, i like puzzle games. sometimes platformer ones like Limbo and Inside, and occasionally I enjoy where you simply point and click like The Room series. there are no heavy stories that i usually encounter in such games. interesting enough to make you think, but nothing too emotional since the goal is usually just getting to the next piece you have to solve. until this particular one...

there was this free game in Epic called Call of the Sea. read the synopsis, installed it, checked it out. it's about a sickly wife (Norah) in search of her husband (Harry), who went on an expedition of 6 and left her to find a cure for her illness which no doctor could diagnose and therefore would result in her death. the husband sent her a package containing some items and a letter leading to a mysterious island. it was the last she'd heard of him. there's a fantasy element here and the main protagonist, Norah, follows a trail of her husband solving simple to complicated ways in unlocking doors and pathways and information connected to her illness. she had black ooze on her skin that turned out to be a bloodline from an ancient race that belonged to the gods of the sea.. or something like that. traces of Harry's notes and letters revealed that the quest to find the cure has led to accidental deaths of his company, and almost a descent to madness as the black ooze was not meant for mere mortals. Norah largely progresses in solving the puzzles that Harry had done because of the notes he left, and in the middle of it all she has flashes of dreams of being a maiden/mermaid being at home at sea. in every area there are campsites where she finds letters from harry that he addressed to her but was never able to mail, each one leaving her hopeful to find him and reunite with him again.

long story short, harry pretended he was lost on the island to lure his wife there so she could answer the ritual meant only for her race and accept the call of the sea. to remain human would mean her end. harry lied and sacrificed his companionship with his wife so she can finally come home and be free. norah discovers this at the last scene and also from visions that the island showed her. the last choice YOU have to make as the gamer would be to (1) accept your fate as a sea-creature and bid farewell to your past [and future with harry], (2) return to harry, to her 'illness,' and live the rest of her life with him.

I'LL TELL YA I FRIGGING BAWLED WHEN THE GAME GAVE ME THE DECISION. SAID "FUCK YOU" TO IT, STOOD UP, PACED AROUND, AND JUST CRIED. I MADE THE MOST LOGICAL AND NARRATIVELY SATISFYING CHOICE BUT MY GOD. CALL OF THE SEA I JUST WANTED TO SOLVE A FEW PUZZLES NOT THE PUZZLE OF LIFE ITSELF (i'm exaggerating). I'M REPEATING THE LAST CHAPTER AS I WRITE THIS JUST TO SEE THE RESULT OF THE OTHER CHOICE. GOOD GOD, GAME, WHY!?!?!

#call of the sea #call of the sea spoiler #emotionally damaged by a puzzle game

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celtfather · 2 years ago

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First Pint with Bridget O'Malley #605

My first pint in Ireland this year is to Bridge O’Malley. The second is to the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast #605.

Old Blind Dogs, Bua, Norah Rendell, Conor Caldwell, Matt & Shannon Heaton, Enda Reilly, Tommy Fakem, Dervish, Low Lily, Iron Roux, Hot Griselda, Fast & Vengefully, Nick Metcalf, Heavy Blarney, Dàimh

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THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:02 - Intro: Carol Baril

0:10 - Old Blind Dogs "Desperate Fishwives" from Wherever Yet May Be

6:24 - WELCOME

7:55 - Bua "Eddie Moloney's / Micho Ressell's (Mason's Apron)" from Down the Green Fields

11:04 - Norah Rendell "Pretty Susan" from Spinning Yarns

14:48 - Conor Caldwell "An Art Revealed" from To Belfast...

17:17 - Matt & Shannon Heaton "The Blackbird" from Blue Skies Above

21:25 - FEEDBACK

23:50 - Enda Reilly "Gráinne Mhaol" from Single

27:30 - Tommy Fakem "First Pint" from Johnny Irish

31:10 - Dervish "Out On the Road" from Midsummer's Night

35:13 - Low Lily "Captivate Me" from Angels in the Wreckage

38:45 - STORY: Mark Clavey’s Whiskey Story and Tour

Find more about the Whiskey Lovers Tour on Mark Clavey’s website.

45:24 - Iron Roux "Wiru" from Iron Roux

50:19 - THANKS

52:19 - Hot Griselda "Roll On - Roll Off" from Sunbox

55:26 - Fast & Vengefully "The Price You Pay" from Rozzie Me Bow

1:00:25 - Nick Metcalf "Reel Rock" from Skyline of Skye

1:03:42 - Heavy Blarney "Heavy Carlow" from From Bog To Swamp

1:07:54 - CLOSING

1:09:09 - Dàimh "Dunrobin" from The Hebridean Sessions

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TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

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In 2023, we’re going on a Celtic Invasion of County Mayo in Ireland. You can follow me on Instagram.com/celtfather if you want to see pictures during the event. Though I’ll also post at least once or twice on the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast Facebook page.

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Brett Mitchell replied to the Celtic Music Magazine: "Hi Mark, I make high end jewelry for a family owned store in the Grosse Pointe Farms area of Michigan. Truely enjoy your show and all the work you do on it.

Bonus answer: I'll likely head out to one of our local pubs for St Patrick's day and enjoy a Guinness or two. Slainte'"

Alexander Randall 5th replied: "What are you doing while listening? Sitting at my computer - working.

How are you celebrating Celtic culture through music this holiday season?

I decked out the Bear at the end of my driveway for the Saint

Jeff Laszlo replied: "Listening to The Bridge and making cookies and Irish soda bread before starting on corned beef. Slainte!"

Don W. Slee posted on Facebook: "When the internet is out and you can't work. Gotta make do. Slainte!!!"

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thepoetcarpenter · 2 months ago

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Third Asahi (quantum computer)

Can we get more gigahertz?

Yeah if we add a water cooling

I was lost in the universe

Trying to figure

Between the superposition of things

The joke is that the cat is already dead

It’s quantum mechanics

I don’t get it either

So I got on my third Asahi

And I got thinking

Man, why do I care about gigahertz

Probably ‘cause I fell in love on the internet

And pirated John Mayer’s albums through dial up

And my favourite movie was You’ve Got Mail

The one where Tom Hanks kisses Meg Ryan at the end

And I got them all for free on BitTorrent

And they’re all my best friends now

I was trying to engineer the CPU earlier

Man, why do I care about speed

When I can’t even run on a treadmill

It makes my feet ache

For God’s sake

We need more gigahertz

Yeah I’m still hurt

When she said goodbye that day

So I kept looking at her photos on FaceBook

So I tell you this

I’m a little drunk

And I’m writing a love song about PCs

Macs better

Man, I tell you this

Norah Jones is still waiting for her cheques

Ever since I got her songs online

And now her photo album hangs in my home

The sad thing is she told me it’s not too late

Don’t know why is about soulmates

So I ran to the United States

I drove three days and nights

For a smile I seen on Instagram

And I’m passed my third Asahi

And now I’m really drunk

But now I know we need more gigahertz

I was trying to engineer the CPU earlier

Man, why do I care about speed

When I can’t even run on a treadmill

It makes my feet ache

For God’s sake

We need more gigahertz

Yeah I’m still hurt

When she said goodbye that day

So I kept looking at her photos on FaceBook

My heart aches

For God’s sake

The days are like an empty lake

At the end of summer

No one is here

I think I’ll go watch a Corean romantic comedy on netflix

The one with Suzy Bae

Yeah she’s my bae

#Third Asahi (quantum computer)

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soracities · 3 years ago

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hi, m.! how do you discover new books upon removing yourself from the algorithm of goodreads / storygraph? my sister and i are currently evading book socials in an attempt to be more mindful of what we read, minus the ‘feed’ recommending us books. we want to read books because we choose it :) would love to hear your thoughts!

Hi, lovely! This will be a bit late since I've had this question a few times, esp. in regards to quitting social media, so I'm very sorry to anyone else who asked that it's taken me so long to get around to it!

I will be honest, this blog does make up a good part of how I find things -- my mutuals and other lit blogs especially (I also find works through the authors I follow online now and then); most often, though, these will simply put something on my radar so that I always have an ever-shifting web of disparate works circling through my head; titles will crop up when I'm looking for something, but whether or not I get around to reading those books sooner rather than later really depends on a lot of other factors: if it's an author I know or have read and loved before, for example, then I’m more likely to explore it -- the same goes if I spot something on a shelf or in an article that a mutual has mentioned!

Otherwise, the factors that really influence the books I find most often are a lot more personal and down to proximity: things close friends mention or recommend (Dostoevsky was on my list for years, but I bought The Brothers Karamazov without a second thought because of someone I love), the books I find in my local library or favourite bookshops, books mentioned in other books (I pick up a lot of titles through nonfiction / essays, or just stuff the authors I like enjoy), archives like Project Gutenberg, online magazines, journals, book presses, etc. These are the places I go to far more often and are probably what determine the books I actually read most of the time. Admittedly, it’s quite random and there is no set system for me aside from just following my own intuition -- that said, I think the last ones are especially good for discovering new works and authors, so while I don’t know what kind of books or genres you prefer (which means this will all vary of course), if you want to stay away from socials entirely, then I cannot stress enough: mailing lists & newsletters are your friends!! You don’t have to sign up to everything (I’d honestly recommend against it because I think you’d end up with the same situation I found on Goodreads which is far more time spent accumulating titles than actually reading them), but keeping up with sites whose content you enjoy, or signing up to the newsletters of local or independent bookshops is, I think, a really good way of coming across new things without an AI hobbling them together for you.

For me, a lot of what I come across has been assembled from a variety of places, but I have a handful of publishers whose content I love or am always intrigued by (like Tramp Press, Fitzcarraldo, Pushkin Press, or the Dalkey Archive) so I try to keep up with their releases every now and then (I’m also more likely to read random books I stumble across if I know they published them), as well as my favourite online journals, magazines, lit archives etc., As I said, I don’t know what kind of books you like, but for me sites like Electric Lit (because of them, I found out about Norah Lange), The Marginalian (Brainpickings’ new name, and it is an absolute treasure trove), The Paris Review, LitHub, Words Without Borders, or other poem-a-day / poetry archives (Words for the Year and poetry queen @firstfullmoon ig page grieftolight especially!) are wonderful, because they expose you to so many different voices and works. I’m not a huge fan of literary prizes for various reasons, but I do pay attention to the longlist and shortlist of the Dublin Literary Prize and the Booker International because they’re not as narrow or insular as others usually are; I may not always read the titles listed immediately, but they’re filed away in my head, because the most important thing for me is to read, or be aware of in order to read, as wide a selection of books as possible.

All of this means I end up with a very chaotic mental map of the various things I want to read and explore, but the chief thing for me is that if I find something that piques my interest, I follow it -- if I’m reading an author of a particular nationality, for example, I often look up their contemporaries or others writing from the same or a similar tradition. Most of what I read is in translation also, so if a book has really caught me I look up not only the author’s other works, but the translator’s too. Because I read Adonis, I looked up Khaled Mattawa. Because I looked up Khaled Mattawa, I found Saadi Youssef and Maram al-Masri, both of whom I absolutely adored. Non-Fiction helps a lot in this too, at least for me -- as I said, I stumble across a lot of new titles when reading essays by authors I already enjoy, and it’s far more likely that I’ll pick something up if I’ve read about it beforehand. I read Geoff Dyer’s essays because I read Zadie Smith's review of them in her own essay collection; I read Natalia Ginzburg’s Family Lexicon and Enrique Vila Matas’ Dublinesque because I read Zambra; I discovered and fell in love with Stig Dagerman through a Siri Hustvedt essay and I don’t know if I have ever before felt the kind of stunned response I had when I read his writing in Burnt Child; it honestly floors me still. Again, all of this is a very random selection process but it works for me because I’m always looking to explore lots of various things at any given moment. That said, and while I don't know what facilities are like where you are or how easily you have access to them, I do genuinely believe, along with all this, that if you want to be more mindful then the most important thing I can say to you is to really, really, try to cultivate a relationship with your local library and bookstores, whenever and however you can. As I said, I accumulate a lot of titles through a lot of different places, but even through all of these, most of the books I've ended up discovering and loving have been through my local library because they're the ones who have put the book and me in the same room: I had Svetlana Alexievich on my list for a while because I came across excerpts on tumblr, but the only reason I finally got down to reading her is because the Fitzcarraldo edition of Second-hand Time was put on the display shelf. That display shelf is also the only reason I eventually discovered Zambra (also in Fitzcarraldo and so, by now, the only reason I'd discovered Fitzcarraldo). It’s where I found Camilla Gurdova, where I found Nabokov’s letters to his wife and therefore finally got around to reading him; it’s where I picked up Camus’ essays because -- again -- I know how much someone dear to me loves him; it’s how I managed to read Siri Hustvedt and therefore the only reason I found Dagerman to begin with at all. For me, that physical proximity is a vital part of the books I come across because they’re no longer something vague that I “might” read, but a real tangible thing that I can actually pick up and read right there and then; this is what makes the difference for me.

When I first started reading more seriously, I (very naively) collected so many of those ridiculous 100 Best Books of All Time Ever lists; I thought Tolstoy and various other bigwigs were something I needed to accomplish in order to be considered a Real Reader -- naturally, it was a disaster because books then became a massive and daunting chore; I couldn't finish Notes from Underground because, in reality, I wasn't ready for it -- I just wanted to tick it off a list. What I needed, and what my library allowed me to discover, were books that weren’t necessarily on those lists but that stayed with me and influenced the literature I did eventually discover: because of my library I found Helen Simpson, Ali Smith and Jenny Offill which is probably the only reason I gave up those lists and finally allowed myself to read what I wanted, when I wanted; it wasn’t the time for Notes from Underground, but it was the time to read the slim little Turgenev I found wedged on the Classics shelf and fell in love with. The first books that I ended up being challenged by were not the Big Books I always thought I had to tackle but rather things like Books Burn Badly or A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing which I never would have read otherwise. It’s because of my library that I found Mihail Sebastian, Andrés Neuman, and Tomas Tranströmer. It’s why I read Mrs Dalloway as early as I did -- because the book was there. The only reason I ended up finding Adonis (and subsequently, any of his other works as well as Mattawa’s) was because my library had him on their Poetry shelf. I very rarely actually bought books for the longest time because 90% of what I read was through my library, which I know is an insanely lucky position to be in; I lived in a well connected enough area to be able to find most of the books I was looking for (and even if they weren’t in my county, I could order them in from others easily enough).

And I think the exact same kind of unexpected but striking discoveries applies to bookstores (secondhand and independent ones especially, and I love them more for this very reason) -- again, I don’t know what you and your sister have available near you, but if you have the means to visit them then I genuinely can’t overstate how important they are, not only because of what you can find on their shelves but also because of what you can learn by forging a relationship and talking to the staff, or simply the comfort of having an emotional tie to some aspect of the community you live in. I’ve found books because the shops I love posted about a reading or book signing, or because looking up an author on their website led to suggestions I’d never even heard of but was endlessly thankful for. For me, even for all that my brain hops back and forth like a deranged little magpie hoarding new titles, the most important avenues for finding authors or works happens between titles given to me by those I’m closest to, and the places where the books are physically there. I can have a book in my head for months or even years but it’s seeing it in the bargain bin or in the middle of a precarious pile of faded spines in a secondhand bookshop that makes me bring it home, if that makes sense. This is not to detract from any of the other sources above because I understand that this is a somewhat privileged place to speak from and relies a lot, not just financially but also locally on where you are and what you have access to. But if there are local bookshops, or even just ones a short while away from you then I really think you will get so much from visiting them or placing your orders with them when you do discover new titles that have caught you, however that comes about.

In any case, this has gotten a lot lengthier than I intended, but I hope some if it has helped even just a little bit. Happy reading and (hopefully!) happy future discoveries to you and your sister xx

#ask #anonymous #book talks #beginner guides

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biotic-boshtet · 3 years ago

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Aftermath - Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Start From The Beginning

Shore Leave pt. 2

After almost a week, Kaidan is more or less used to the sounds the old house makes. He picks his way down the creaking stairs, groggy brain locked onto the promise of coffee. On his way around the bar, he nearly runs right into another person. Norah Jean, he thinks, at first, then remembers he left her half-asleep upstairs. The woman blinking at him now is about his height, with steely brown eyes and captain’s bars on her uniform, a cup of steaming black coffee in hand. Kaidan’s uncomfortably aware of the fact that he’s standing there in a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. His cheeks grow hot and he’s stuck like a deer in headlights.

She extends the hand not holding her coffee. “Hannah Shepard. Kaidan Alenko, I assume?”

“I-yes, ma’am. How did you-“

“Norah Jean may have mentioned something about her very charming lieutenant once or twice. Plus, I’ve seen what little they’ve released of the vids from the battle in the tower. Pretty hard to miss the way you cling to each other’s sixes.” Kaidan takes her hand, and she winks at him as she gives it a firm shake. “If I’d known Norah Jean would be here, I’d have waited till later to stop by. I’ll be out of your hair once the mail gets delivered, don’t worry.” Hannah releases his hand and steps around him, heading for the couch, sitting down and turning on the tv. Kaidan shakes his head and makes for the coffee pot.

A few moments later the stairs creak as Norah Jean slowly works her way down the stairs. She pauses at the bottom, glancing at her mother. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, kid.”

“What brings you out here unannounced?”

“Didn’t think I needed to announce myself, I do live here sometimes, too. Though if I knew you’d be here with a boy I’d have said something before I startled him. I’m getting your brother’s birthday present delivered here, he’s at the house in Vancouver, so I had to improvise. You know how nosy he gets.”

“Oh, I know, he’s the reason I refuse to plan surprise parties anymore. So, you’ve met Kaidan?” She crutches a few steps closer to her mother.

“Oh, yes, he’s quite the catch.” Hannah winks over her coffee.

“That he is.” Norah Jean turns to continue on towards the kitchen, to Kaidan and coffee.

Kaidan’s ready when she approaches the bar, setting a steaming mug down in front of her. The color in his cheeks has mostly gone down. Still a bit rosy. She sets her crutches against the bar and picks it up, taking a deep sniff before glancing back up. “Sugar?”

“Norah Jean, I wouldn’t dare hand you an unsweetened cup of coffee.”

She cracks a smile, taking a small sip, nodding and hopping up on the barstool. “I know, but I’ll still ask every time. Can’t have you slipping up.”

“If I ever want to get on your bad side, I’ll be sure to give you coffee with five spoons of sugar instead of six.” He laughs, cheeks still pink. “I’ll stay over here with my normal coffee.”

“Kaidan. You wouldn’t know normal coffee if it splashed you in the face. When you brew coffee, Pressley only drinks one cup before lunch. The man usually goes through an entire pot by himself by noon. You drink jet fuel disguised as coffee.”

“But you like it.” He raises his mug to his lips. One spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Is it really, though?” He grins as he set his mug back down.

“Mhmm, didn’t you promise me breakfast?”

“And if I only said that to get you out of bed before 11?”

“Would you really lure me out of my warm bed with false promises of eggs and bacon? When I can’t even move properly, and Chakwas would probably lock me in the medbay if she knew I was going up and down these steps on crutches?”

“Probably not. How do you want your eggs?”

“Over easy, please.”

“You got it, Sugar.”

Norah Jean stares at Kaidan for a second before realizing she’s just been given a nickname. She smiles into her coffee as he opens the fridge to retrieve the eggs and bacon.

Kaidan back around, catching her eye briefly and flashing a brilliant smile before looking past her, to the couch. “Mrs. Shepard?”

“Just Hannah is fine, please.”

“Right. Hannah, would you like some breakfast?”

“I ate on the way here, but I’ll take a refill on my coffee?”

“Sure thing. Sugar or milk?”

“No thank you, black is fine.”

Kaidan grabs the coffee pot, stopping to top off Norah Jean’s mug, leaving the sugar pot with her on the bar, before heading across the room to fill Hannah’s waiting mug. “You sure you don’t want any eggs or something?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I promise.”

“Give it up, Kaidan, she’s more stubborn than me. You won’t get her to budge. Also, uh, as much as I enjoy the view, I think a shirt would be a good idea if you’re gonna fry off bacon.”

“Yeah, yeah, that would make sense.” He returns to the kitchen, taking another sip of coffee before heading upstairs.

Norah Jean turns in her seat after a moment, to look at her mother. “Alright, spill it.”

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

Hannah sighs softly, setting her mug down on the end table. “You must really like him; you haven’t brought anybody home since-“

“I know.” Norah Jean glances up the stairs, no Kaidan yet. “You got a point to this?”

“No point, it’s just good to see you happy, at ease. I haven’t seen you like this in too long. You picked a good one.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Two days later they’re standing by bay 15 of the Alliance’s dry docks in Vancouver, looking up at the Normandy. The rest of the crew is slowly trickling in, with orders to be underway in 12 hours. Kaidan nudges her shoulder, meeting her eyes with a smile. Norah Jean gives his hand a squeeze before stepping away and squaring her shoulders, stepping back into Commander Shepard.

#shenko #fshenko #mass effect fic #mass effect #hannah shepard #norah jean shepard #aftermath #otp: we know the score #yes i am still writing #this chapter has been kicking my ass for... checks phone... 2 months #moving does that to you lmao #i love awkward family meetings can u tell #mandi writes

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tomhiddlestonfanfic · 4 years ago

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He Loves Me Not Chapter Eighteen

Ch.1 - Ch.2 - Ch.3 - Ch.4 - Ch.5 - Ch.6 - Ch.7 - Ch.8 - Ch.9 - Ch.10 - Ch.11 - Ch.12 - Ch.13 - Ch.14 - Ch.15 - Ch. 16 - Ch. 17 - Ch. 18 - Ch. 19

Summary & Chapter Index

TITLE: He Loves Me Not

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: 18/?? WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor Tom OTHER CHARACTERS: Benedict Cumberbatch PAIRING: Tom Hiddleston/OFC GENRE: Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance, Teen Angst, Coming of age

FIC SUMMARY: Norah is a troubled teenager who is secretly and obsessively in love with her sister Sarah’s boyfriend, Tom. Sarah constantly worries about her younger sister, who is struggling with depression and anxiety, and one night, after a long evening at a charity event, Tom decides that he has had quite enough of Norah’s at times reckless and what could be considered rather selfish behaviour. He reveals a new side of himself as he desperately tries to help Norah break her vicious circle of self-destruction and open her eyes to the beautiful things in life. Could he be Norah’s knight in shining armor? Or will his efforts prove to be all in vain? Is his mere presence actually doing more harm than good? Could he ever love her the way she loves him?

WARNINGS: This story contains potentially triggering subjects such as Depression, Anxiety, Self-Harm, Self-Destruction, Eating Disorders, Talk About Suicide and Suicidal Ideation. It also deals with the subject of Grief and contains Previous Character Deaths. Other potentially upsetting subjects this story contains are Spanking Fantasies, Sexual Fantasies, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Age Difference and Age Play.

If you are having a hard time and think that stories containing any of those subjects might have a negative effect on your wellbeing, I advise against reading it and wish you the best of luck. Please, take care of yourself.

FEEDBACK: All sorts of feedback is highly appreciated. Every note, comment, reblog and mail I get makes me really, really happy. It’s always very interesting to hear what you think of my writing.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you so much for your patience. I know it’s been a really long time since I last updated this story, but I never truly gave up on it. Life just got in the way. I’m really sorry about the inconvenience and hope you enjoy the story. Love, F.

Chapter Eighteen: Everybody Has a Little Darkness in Them

Norah ate reluctantly in Tom's company. He kept smiling encouragingly at her from across the table whenever she looked up from her plate.

"You look tired," she remarked causing him to smile at her.

"So do you," he replied and motioned towards her plate in a reminder to eat. Norah sighed and took another bite of her sandwich. "Would it make it easier for you if we talked while you were eating, or do you prefer silence?"

"The silence makes me more anxious," Norah told him.

"Okay. Then we'll talk," Tom decided. "Actually, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for some time now."

Norah froze. He knew. That must be it. He knew about her feelings for him. “Okay,” she mumbled nervously in response, mentally preparing herself for rejection.

Tom pulled out a neatly folded paper from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to her across the table between them. “Do you remember this?” he asked.

Norah confusedly unfolded the paper. She was both relieved and disappointed once she identified it as the agreement they had written and signed several months ago. Part of her had really wanted to come clean to Tom about her feelings for him, even if that meant getting rejected. The other part of her was relieved not to have to tell him just yet. That way she would be able to keep pretending that there was a slight possibility that he in fact might like her back.

“Right, what about it?” Norah asked, beginning to feel uneasy upon skimming through the list of things she had agreed to. She had not succeeded particularly well on any of the points on the list. “I failed, is that what you want to tell me?” she asked bitterly as she handed back the list to Tom, afraid that she would otherwise rip the paper to pieces.

“You haven’t failed, Norah,” Tom objected and smiled reassuringly at her as he unwillingly accepted the paper back into his hands. “I’m proud of you for trying so hard, and I want you to know that your efforts are not in vain. It’s so easy to slip up and fall back into old habits, but as long as you keep trying, you haven’t really failed,” Tom insisted. “You have made progress, Norah. You have changed, both Sarah and I can see it, and we are really proud of you. The important part now is that you don’t give up, but keep fighting. We both believe in you and just want what’s best for you.”

Norah looked down at her hands in her lap. The cast on her left hand was glaring back at her, filling her with guilt. She certainly hadn’t made herself worthy of all this praise.

“But I’ve let you down,” Norah objected, automatically shaking her head at him, rejecting his words of encouragement.

“No, you haven’t, Norah. You’ve made me proud,” Tom kept insisting and pointed to the paper. “Look, I never said this would be easy, and I never said you were expected to change overnight. Now, did I?” Tom questioned with a gentle smile.

Norah shrugged and blushed a little as she recalled the night when Tom had taken it upon himself to become more involved in her care.

“I guess not,” she mumbled self-consciously. Tom nodded towards her plate, and she took another bite of her sandwich.

“You’ve made progress on nearly all of the items on the agreement,” Tom said, pointing at the first part. “You haven’t been hurting yourself as frequently as you used to. And I can tell that you’ve really been trying to fight the urge to do so. Like the other day in the bathroom when I found that razorblade on the floor. You didn’t use it, even though you wanted to.”

“But that was only because there was no point in doing it. If you would have caught me cutting myself, you probably wouldn’t have let me leave the house so I could-” Norah heard herself begin to explain before she finally remembered how to stop talking. What the hell was she thinking? Why would she ever want to remind him of that? To make him hurt? To remind him of how untrustworthy she really was?

“... so you could kill yourself,” Tom finished for her. His voice was low and grave as he spoke, and Norah could feel his piercing eyes on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look up to meet his stare.

“I…” Norah trailed off. Her mouth remained slightly ajar as she struggled to find the right words; the magical words that would make it alright again. “Fuck,” she finally muttered frustratedly when her mind failed to come up with anything better to say. “I’m sorry,” she then added, deciding that apologising would be the way to go. “I’m so sorry for putting you through all that.”

“I know,” Tom replied in a gentle tone. “And I’m sorry too. I really wish I hadn’t let you out of my sight. I felt in my gut that something wasn’t right, and yet, I let you go.”

“But nothing happened,” Norah reminded him. She looked up to meet Tom’s sad blue eyes and felt a lump form in her throat. Why did she have to be such an idiot and bring this up now? Why couldn’t she just have accepted his praise instead of reminding him of why she wasn’t worthy of it? Norah shut her eyes and covered her face with her hands as she thought about it. Why did she always have to mess things up?

“Hey, don’t be sad,” Tom pleaded and got up from his seat to sit down in a chair next to her instead. He proceeded to place an arm around her shoulders. When Norah began to sob, he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He leaned in to softly peck her on the cheek, before proceeding to whisper into her ear. “I’m not angry with you, Norah. I know it isn’t your fault.”

Norah took deep, shaky breaths between her sobs, and leaned back against Tom. The sensation of his warm body against hers was mostly comforting, but also somewhat unsettling. She felt guilty; for everything she had done to him, and for everything she wanted to do to him. It simply wasn’t right; none of it.

“It’s going to be alright,” Tom promised sweetly when her sobs had begun to subside. “It's all going to be just fine.”

Norah couldn’t help but snort as she reflected upon her own behaviour. “Here I go again. First I make you hurt, and then I start crying myself so you have to comfort me. It’s messed up.”

Tom laughed softly and hugged her harder in response. “I don’t mind it. Perhaps I’m comforting myself by comforting you... and perhaps some part of you knows that.”

“No, I assure you, I’m just selfish,” Norah laughed dryly.

“I don’t believe that,” Tom insisted. “If you were purely selfish, you wouldn’t cry because of bad conscience.”

“But I might have faked tears to make it appear as though I’m the one to feel bad about, rather than the other way around,” Norah pointed out, before sighing deeply.

“You’re such a dork,” Tom uttered spontaneously and lovingly, as though he had been talking to Sarah. Norah had heard him use those exact words on several occasions to show Sarah his affection and express his adoration of her quirks. She could feel Tom’s body go tense underneath her for a brief moment as he seemingly realised his mistake.

“Says the dorkiest person I’ve ever met,” Norah retorted, desperately hoping that Tom wouldn’t realise that she had noticed anything. She was relieved when she heard Tom’s characteristic laughter.

“So,” Tom finally said, announcing that he was back in business. Norah slid off his lap and sat back down next to him. She chewed her lip thoughtfully as Tom presented her with the paper once more. Norah read through the first item on the list and realised that she had broken all of the things mentioned. She pushed the paper back into Tom’s hands.

"All in all, you’ve been eating better, save for the last week…" Tom said and motioned towards her plate yet again. Norah sighed and took another bite as he continued to speak. "And you haven’t been drinking at all, if we don’t count your little night out with Ben,” he pointed out to her, letting his index finger trace the words on the paper. Norah smiled sheepishly until his finger paused on the next sentence; ‘Also, I will not put myself in any unnecessary danger.’

Norah’s heart sunk as she read the words. She felt ashamed as she recalled the moment when Tom had stood beside her on the edge of the cliff.

“Norah, I know this is hard for you. But I really think we should talk this through,” Tom told her earnestly. “Can we do that?”

“Fine,” Norah muttered and reluctantly took another bite of her breakfast. She really wanted to be done eating by the time Sarah got back.

“Good. So how many times would you say you put yourself in unnecessary danger last week?”

“Do we really have to do this?” Norah questioned, crossing her arms defensively.

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page,” Tom insisted.

“Fine. Twice,” Norah mumbled.

“Would you be so kind as to clarify?”

Norah snorted at Tom’s way of phrasing the question. “You sound like a dusty old professor,” she muttered, luring a smile from him. “But sure, I’ll clarify. I guess you could consider it putting myself in danger when I fell into the water, even though it wasn’t on purpose. And, well, the other one is pretty obvious, don’t you think? Otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Tom nodded and looked at her solemnly. “I see,” he said. “How about drinking alcohol when you’re on pregabalin? Wouldn’t you consider that dangerous?”

“Prega- what?” Norah asked confusedly.

“Pregabalin, the active ingredient in your anxiety medication,” Tom explained.

“Which one?”

“Lyrica, the one you take every day.” Tom smiled as Norah made a face at him.

“Ah, I see… And since when did you become a fan of neuroscience?” she asked brittly, embarrassed by the fact that Tom knew more about her medical treatment than she did.

“Well, I did some research because I was a bit concerned about you taking so much medication,” Tom revealed. Norah looked away as she smiled abashedly, moved by his gesture. “Anyhow,” Tom continued somewhat awkwardly. “It’s not good to mix Lyrica with alcohol because they both depress the central nervous system. That’s probably why you were so out of it and couldn’t even walk by yourself.”

“Oh,” Norah uttered when realisation hit. “So that’s why I got so drunk? I thought I had just been drinking too much…”

“It was probably a combination of the two,” Tom pointed out bitterly. His face had grown more serious and his jaw a bit tense. "And the fact that you had barely eaten before your little drunken adventure."

“Are you angry with me?” Norah asked confusedly.

“No, I just wish you would take this more seriously,” Tom replied, giving her a significative look.

“I am,” Norah assured him. “I just think you’re overreacting a little. I mean, it’s not like anything happened.”

“Not this time. But what if Ben wouldn’t have been with you?” Tom questioned seriously.

“Then I probably wouldn’t have gotten drunk in the first place!” Norah defended herself.

“Fine,” Tom sighed. “But can you please promise me you will be more careful with alcohol and medications in the future?”

“Okay,” Norah agreed sourly, a bit put off by his paternal manners. He really didn’t have to take it upon himself to tell her off about those things, as far as Norah knew, it was Sarah’s job.

“Good,” Tom replied dryly, and Norah could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t quite believe her. He broke eye contact with her to have a quick look at the paper. “If you look back at the last two weeks, can you think of any occasions where you might have put someone else in a potentially dangerous situation?”

Norah sighed deeply and glared darkly at Tom. She considered the option of refusing to discuss things any further with him, but then realised that Sarah probably would pick up where he left off. The mere thought of having this discussion with Sarah instead of Tom made Norah cringe, because she knew it couldn’t possibly end well.

“Yes. That old man could have gotten hurt when he pulled me out of the water, and you could have gotten yourself killed when you so foolishly insisted on standing so damn close to the edge of that cliff. But here’s the thing, I never asked any of you to help me in any way,” Norah told him irritably. “I think you’re both fucking idiots for saving someone who doesn’t even want to be saved.”

“Oh, Norah. I… I didn’t think of it like that. I was just thinking about the plastic bag you threw out the car window…” Tom explained warily, seemingly regretful of having upset her once more.

“What?! You’re still going on about that?” Norah asked in disbelief and found herself wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” Tom apologised heartily. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“So you were seriously still upset about the bag out the car window incident?” Norah asked incredulously.

“Well, I guess that’s another thing I just wish you would take more seriously,” Tom replied abashedly and awkwardly reached back to scratch the back of his neck.

“It’s not that I don’t get it, and it’s not that I don’t care,” Norah explained. “It’s just that it feels like a pretty ridiculous thing to make such a big deal out of since nothing happened.”

Tom smiled at her. “I guess you’re right,” he unwillingly agreed. “Should we continue with the list?” he then asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s not my favourite thing in the world to do, but I’m guessing you won’t take no for an answer,” Norah replied with a shrug.

“You’re right about that,” Tom agreed and smiled briefly at her. He didn’t seem to particularly enjoy this either, but he was clearly keen on following it through. “I’ll try to be quick,” he promised and resumed reading the words he had typed several months earlier. “I know it’s hard for you to ask for and accept help from others, but Sarah and I both think you’ve made progress with that. We’re really proud of you and hope you will continue to get better at letting someone know when you’re not feeling well.”

Norah blushed and looked down at the paper in Tom’s hands. She didn’t know what to answer to that so she just hummed awkwardly to confirm that she had heard him.

“About this,” Tom motioned to the third item on the agreement. “You seem pretty attached to your phone, and yet you fail to answer texts and calls. Why is that?”

“You’re always calling at a bad time, and I can’t text when I’m in the middle of an instance,” Norah replied.

“An instance?”

“When I’m in an instance I’m playing with other players, so I kind of have a responsibility to pay attention to the game since we’re all cooperating,” Norah explained.

“I see, but you’re not playing computer games all day long, are you?” Tom wondered.

“No,” Norah sighed ��but you tend to call whenever I do.”

“So call me back or send me a text whenever you’re done,” Tom said.

“But I forget,” Norah mumbled.

“Or you don’t want to remember.”

“No, mostly I actually do forget,” Norah insisted.

“Okay,” Tom said. “But can you try getting into the habit of checking your phone every now and then when you’re not busy doing something else?”

“Okay,” Norah agreed.

“And when you’re going out, at least let someone know where you’re going,” Tom reminded her.

“Fine,” Norah muttered. “But you can’t expect me to bring my phone when you’ve taken it from me.”

“Of course not, but if you would have told me where you were going I could have given it back to you,” Tom replied.

“Provided you would have let me go out in the first place,” Norah commented bitterly.

“Precisely. Not going out whenever you like is kind of a major part of being grounded,” Tom pointed out. Norah sighed and rolled her eyes at him. “Did you know that in the past, eye-rolling was commonly used as a form of flirting?”

Norah felt her cheeks grow warm from embarrassment. “Well, I can assure you that I’m not flirting with you!” she huffed at him.

“Oh, I, I didn’t think you were, I just find it interesting how things change over time,” Tom assured her, getting a bit flustered himself. “Sorry. We should probably just keep going. I’ll try to be quick.”

Norah smiled at how Tom’s cheeks had gone from pale to rosy within seconds.

“I guess you’re working on this,” Tom mumbled as he skimmed through the fourth item on the list. Norah particularly disliked that one, because it reminded her that she didn’t live up to Tom’s standards. ‘I will apologise when I do or say something hurtful or wrong and take full responsibility for my actions.’ The fact that Tom had thought it necessary to add something like that to the agreement clearly expressed that Norah didn’t fit his idea of how a person should act. "You will apologise to Sarah for calling her a sadistic bitch, right?"

"Of course," Norah mumbled and blushed.

"Good. Don't forget to eat," Tom reminded her as he kept skimming through the next item on the list; 'I will stop skipping doctor's appointments and go to my scheduled therapy sessions, actually talking to the therapist. I will also take my medications in accordance to the doctor's instructions.'

Norah sighed and ate some more. It went slow, but she noticed that the two sandwiches had decreased to half a sandwich, while most of the apple remained.

“You told your therapist to fuck off, so I’m guessing that didn’t work out for you,” Tom sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. “On a more positive note, you have been taking your medication,” he added and went on to the next item on the list. 'I will stop skipping school and get my GCSE.' “About school. Sarah, you and a social worker are going to sit down and have a long lovely chat about that next week,” he revealed.

"Oh no," Norah groaned and couldn't help but pout.

"It's going to be alright. I truly believe it's going to work out this time," Tom told her encouragingly.

"Yeah right," Norah muttered and sighed heavily.

"It'll be alright," Tom insisted. "Look, there's only one more item left on the list," he said and pointed to the paper. Norah leaned over and read it. 'I will start painting again, and do other things that favour my self-expression.'

"Gaming favours my self-expression," she told him.

"I see," Tom replied with a smile. "I think some variation would be good. What else favours your self-expression? Do you paint? Or write?" Norah blushed as he mentioned writing. She had actually written a one-shot about Tom.

"Not really, I haven't really felt inspired to," Norah explained.

"I see. I suppose you can't force a creative process… but if I were to give you a writing assignment, would you give it a shot?"

"A writing assignment?" Norah questioned. Tom nodded at her. "I suppose I could try," she replied with a shrug.

"Marvellous," Tom said happily and pulled out a handwritten piece of paper from his jacket.

"You already had one prepared?" Norah asked incredulously and curiously reached out for the paper, but Tom held it out of reach.

"Finish your sandwich first," he told her. Norah began to roll her eyes at him, then stopped and blushed before returning to her food.

As soon as Norah swallowed the last bite, Tom handed her the neatly folded paper with his lovely handwriting.

'Pick a character from a book, play or film and write an essay about what mental health problems that character might suffer from and why.'

Norah smiled as she read the assignment. She knew exactly what to write about. It was something she knew that Tom would get really excited about, but she decided she wouldn't tell him anything about it until it was done with the essay.

"You're smiling," Tom said happily.

"I am," Norah replied and her smile widened.

"Do you know what to write about?"

"Maybe," she replied cryptically as the door opened. "I won't tell you what though."

"I can't wait to read it," Tom told her excitedly before smiling up at Sarah as she walked in. Norah glanced down at the table and her heart sunk as she realised that the apple was still left.

"Hi," Sarah said and sat down next to Norah. "Do your teeth still hurt?" she asked once she saw the apple pieces. Norah nodded. "Alright then. A glass of milk or juice?"

Norah hesitated for a moment. The milk would contain more calories than the juice, but her teeth would hurt even more if she picked the juice. 'It serves me right,' she thought and sighed heavily. "Apple juice," she finally said.

"Okay," Sarah replied and made a move to get up, but Tom was faster.

"I'll get it," he offered.

"Thank you," Sarah smiled.

Norah looked up at him and met his gaze. 'Apologise', he mouthed at her. Norah bit her lip and looked down at her hands. The sight of the cast on her left hand made her want to smash it into the table. She was sad and angry at the same time and couldn't really tell why.

"I'm sorry I said all those hurtful things to you. I don't think you're a sadistic bitch," Norah mumbled abashedly.

"Thank you," Sarah said with a weak smile. She was so quick to forgive. "I spoke to your doctor. He wants to put you on a new medication. I told him no, but ultimately it's your decision to make," she said.

"What kind of medication?" Norah asked, glad to be included in the decision making.

"A mood stabiliser called Lithium. It's commonly used for Bipolar disorder, which you don't have," Sarah explained. Norah grimaced slightly at the mention of Lithium.

"I don't want to try it," she decided quickly.

"Okay," Sarah replied. "The doctor is also considering putting you on neuroleptics. A medication called Olanzapine."

"I'd rather die," Norah informed her. While she didn't know much about medications in general, she did know that a common side effect from neuroleptics was weight gain.

"I understand," Sarah replied as though she had expected that kind of answer. "As much as I want to tell the doctor to fuck right off, he has a legal right of keeping you here for 72 hours. I've tried to change his mind, but he won't budge. He's convinced that you need to be in a clinical environment right now to make sure you're safe."

"You already told him to stick his opinion up his arse, why not tell him to fuck off as well?" Norah asked amusedly, causing Sarah to blush and smile embarrasedly. "What's gotten into you?" Norah wondered.

"I don't know," Sarah sighed. "I just don't want to let you down again, Norah."

"Thank you for caring so much," Norah told her older sister sincerely. "I promise I'll be alright in here. I don't feel like you're letting me down at all."

…

‘Hey you, out there beyond the wall Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me? Hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all Together we stand, divided we fall’

Norah breathed shakily as she struggled to hold back her tears. There was something about that particular part of the song that really got to her. Perhaps it was the lyrics, the manner in which they were delivered, or a combination of the two. Roger Waters’s voice was not the most beautiful singing voice she had ever heard, but there was a theatrical quality to it that had awoken both her interest and admiration. She found the entire album utterly inspiring, and at the same time somewhat discouraging, because she knew she would never be able to create anything even remotely close to as amazing as ‘The Wall’.

Norah smiled to herself as she held Joe’s letter clutched against her chest. He had been right; the film he had sent her had made her feel less alone. She was amazed by how Joe somehow seemed to understand her, even though they hardly even knew each other. Whereas most people who did know her, didn’t seem to get her at all. She was now listening through the concept album on which the film was based, and she absolutely loved it.

She heard a knock on the door through the music and pulled out her headphones. As the door opened, she sat up on the bed and quickly folded Joe's letter, discreetly putting it in her pocket as she got up to greet him and Riko.

"Hey," Joe greeted her with a smile and a hug.

"Hi, thanks for coming," Norah replied and proceeded to greet Riko with a hug as well.

"I brought you something," Riko said and rummaged through her tote bag. She pulled out a notebook and a couple of rolls of patterned washi tape in different colours. "I was thinking that you could keep an art journal or something, or write down your poems in it," the younger girl suggested.

"Thank you, I really love it," Norah said with a genuine smile as she accepted the gifts and carefully placed them on the bedside table.

Norah really enjoyed the company of Joe and Riko. She didn’t feel as awkward about the circumstances as she thought she would. Joe told her about how he had spent a lot of time in the hospital when visiting his old band mate Keith who suffered from schizophrenia.

“I think Keith’s brother still works here. Sebastian Baptiste, have you met him?” Joe wondered, causing Norah to light up.

“He worked here last night, he seemed pretty cool,” Norah replied.

“He’s a really good guy, I can assure you of that. Tell him hi from me and I’m sure you’ll get first class treatment,” Joe said with a smile.

“I just might,” Norah replied. She smiled at Riko as she noticed the drawing she had made for Noah on the wall. “I hope you don’t mind me showing it off to people, I really love it and think you are a very talented artist.”

“Oh, thank you,” Riko said with a light blush. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What’s this?” Joe asked amusedly as he picked up the card from Benedict and Sophie on her desk. “You sure are a lightweight drinker,” he teased as he handed the card with the drawing to Riko.

“I’m not a lightweight drinker,” Norah protested. “It was the pregabalin!” She had made sure to read up on her medications after her conversation with Tom. She really should have more insight into her own treatment than she used to, and make more medical decisions for herself as Sarah had put it.

“Let’s blame the good ol’ pregabalin then,” Joe laughed at her. Norah couldn’t tell whether he knew what it was or not. After all, he had been doing drugs in the past, perhaps he knew a lot about medications in general. She couldn’t really find a way to ask him that in a tactful way and didn’t want to make things awkward between them.

“Did Benedict draw this?” Riko asked as her eyes lit up with excitement at the sight of the drawing.

“He did!” Norah replied happily, finding herself sharing her younger friend’s excitement. “If I see him again, I’ll make sure he’ll draw you something as well,” she found herself promising once she realised that it was an actual possibility that she would get to meet Benedict again for as long as Tom was in the picture. As it seemed now, Tom wasn’t set on leaving Sarah anytime soon.

“Really?” Riko asked and threw her arms around her. “I would love that. But don’t pressure him if he doesn’t feel like it, not that I think he would let himself get pressure into something like that… but you know what I mean,” she rambled nervously.

“I’ll ask him if he feels like it,” Norah assured her with a smile.

Time went by quickly during her new found friends’ visit. When it was finally time for them to leave, Norah felt a sting of sadness. It would probably be a long time before she would be able to see them again. How typical that when she finally made new friends, they had to live far away from her.

“I’ll see you online,” Riko told her with a smile.

“Yeah, see you online,” Norah replied, managing to hold back her tears.

Norah lied down on the bed as soon as they had left and sighed heavily as she stared at the ceiling. Soon, a nurse aide came to fetch her for dinner. When she tried to refuse the nurse aide insisted.

“Come on, Norah. Your sister and her husband will be eating with you. Doctor Gianni decided to make an exception with visiting hours since you’re only seventeen.”

Norah sighed defeatedly and reluctantly followed the nurse aide to the room in which she had her meals, privately, away from the other patients. She liked not feeling like she had to socialise with strangers, but at the same time, she didn't want to be treated differently. She had overheard one of the other patients referring to her as 'little miss VIP' and saying that all rules didn't apply to her. Norah tried not to care about the hurtful words, but it was really hard not to.

Tom and Sarah greeted her happily when she entered the room. Norah felt grateful at the sight of them, realising that she was so lucky to have them.

…

Time went by slowly at the ward and Norah spent most of the time in her room. She avoided contact with other patients as much as possible, not because she feared them or anything like that, but because she knew she was going to leave soon anyway. She didn’t want to make any more new friends that she would soon have to part with, parting with Joe and Riko had been painful enough.

During her second night at the ward, Norah found herself waking up at five in the morning, unable to go back to sleep. So she got up and went outside her room to wander the long corridor to the common area with tables, chairs, bookshelves, sofas and a TV. In the small art room next to the common area, the lights were on and she found a woman in her mid-twenties sitting in there, drawing in a notebook. The woman looked up and smiled at her.

“Sorry,” Norah said and was about to leave when the woman stopped her.

“Please don’t leave,” the woman pleaded. “What’s your name?”

“Norah,” Norah replied and remained in the door opening.

“I’m Lucy,” the woman replied and got up from her seat by the desk. “I always wake up at an ungodly hour in this place. It’s nice not to be alone anymore.”

“Have you been here for a long time? If you don’t mind me asking,” Norah asked carefully.

“I’ve been here for three weeks,” Lucy replied. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Norah replied. “I just got here yesterday. And I’ll probably be leaving the day after tomorrow because then the seventy two hours are up.”

“What makes you so sure that the doctor won’t make you stay longer than seventy two hours?” Lucy asked curiously as she stretched her arms over her head. Her shirt sleeve rolled down slightly, revealing a bandage around her wrist.

“My sister will insist that if I have to stay hospitalised any longer it would be closer to my home. I live in London,” Norah explained.

“That sounds nice. Living in London and having a sister who’s willing to fight for you,” Lucy mused with a gentle smile. “I used to dream about moving to London.”

“Then why don’t you?” Norah asked.

“Because my family lives here,” the woman replied with a shrug. “My husband and I depend on my parents and my mother in law to help us with the kids.”

“So you have a husband and kids? How old are they?”

“Five and three,” Lucy replied with a sad smile. “The youngest one just turned three, and I missed her birthday.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Norah said sympathetically.

“It’s alright,” the woman replied sadly. “If I could, I would cry right now, but I just feel so numb.”

“I hate feeling numb,” Norah replied.

“Me too, but sometimes it’s better than feeling too much,” Lucy said with a half-smile. “On a more cheerful note. Do you paint? Draw? Keep a journal?”

“Not really. I was thinking of starting a journal of some sort, since I just got a book from a friend,” Norah replied. The woman’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Go on. Go get your journal and I’ll help you get started. It’s a great way to pass the time and to document the interesting or good things you experience in life. And the bad things too. I use it as a means of validating myself sometimes. If I write how I feel down, I know it’s for real. It reminds me of how I don’t have to hurt myself to leave a scar to know I’m for real.”

“It’s a great idea. I’ll get my book,” Norah told her, not knowing how to respond to the woman’s words. Lucy seemed so open about her problems, which Norah found intriguing. At the same time, she was scared to bond with Lucy. But against better knowing, Norah left and got back a couple of minutes later with her book, pens and the rolls of washi tape she had been given by Riko.

Hours passed as they sat down and talked, drew and wrote in their journals. Lucy showed Norah a couple of pages of her own journal, which inspired Norah to put the drawing from Riko and the one from Benedict into her own journal, that way she wouldn’t end up losing them at the same time as they would help depict that particular moment of her life. She also put Sarah’s and Tom’s notes in her notebook with the washi tape decorating the pages and framing the short letters.

During the rest of Norah’s stay at the ward, she spent a lot of time in Lucy’s company. They even had breakfast together, since the doctor had decided not to let Sarah and Tom see Norah outside the ordinary visiting hours anymore. He still made an exception by letting them be with her for dinner, but other than that, doctor Gianni didn’t want to give her any more special treatment. Norah wondered if it had to do with that other patient’s loud complaints.

When it was finally time for Norah to leave the hospital, she found herself ambivalent. At the same time as she wanted to go back home, she didn’t want to leave Lucy behind. They exchanged numbers and wrote heartfelt messages in each others’ notebooks before they parted.

“Why don’t you sit in the front with me?” Tom offered when it was time to get in the car. Norah shrugged and took the passenger seat, leaving Sarah to sit in the back. “Do you mind country music?” Tom wondered, causing Norah to shake her head at him with a smile. That was the beginning of her introduction to the music and life of Hank Williams. Tom was adorably excited as he spoke to her about the country singer and she found herself listening with more interest than she had expected of herself. The thing that captivated her the most was when Tom spoke of Hank Williams’ alcoholism and drug addiction. He said something about how everybody has a little darkness in them, and that part of Hank Williams really spoke to people. He showed it to them, but unlike him, they didn’t have to take the darkness home with them.

“So which song was your favourite?” Tom asked after pausing the soulful country music.

“If I could only pick one?” Norah asked and Tom nodded. “Lovesick blues,” she replied with a smile. “Will you sing that one in the movie?”

“You’ll have to see,” Tom replied cryptically.

“Do you even know how to yodel?” Norah questioned.

“Not yet,” Tom admitted with a laugh. “But hopefully, I’ll learn.”

“I’m convinced you will. Soon there will be nothing you can’t do,” Norah told him with a smile.

“That’s a great compliment, Norah. It means a lot coming from you,” Tom said sincerely. “There are a whole lot of things I’ll never be able to learn, but thanks.”

Norah blushed in response as he turned the music back on. She looked out the car window and smiled to herself. Maybe she should try to be more open with him about her feelings- Lucy’s unapologetic openness had inspired her. Could she be so brave as to tell him about how amazing she thought he really was? Could she find the courage to tell him that she loved him?

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@sassafras04 @nanarento @sidneydisneyq @siyoteodiara @banddorkmarie @highjackluv @midnight-polaroids @mediocretranquility @musicartmayheminmyheart @rip-taylors-reputation @littlegeneralamy @tiffanylcullen

Please let me know if you want on or off the taglist. Thank you for reading!

#he loves me not #helovesmenot #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston real person fanfiction #tom hiddleston #unrequited love

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kalemakar · 1 year ago

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I love how all the Paris squad are in a queer relationship one way or another and by that I mean Tao and Elle, we don't see trans x het relationships on media and I just like how it's depicted here <3

RIGHTTT!!!!! it’s such a good show in love need it 24/7

#norah gets mail #anon

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bodybymegatech · 4 years ago

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Strangers when we meet

One partly sunny day in Long Beach, California…

I was sightseeing with my family near the Queen Anne. My brother had just proposed to the woman who would become my sister in law and during a boat ride I did something that I am historically not very good at: I introduced myself to an attractive young lady from Seoul. I’ll call her “Heather” “Belle” for reference.

I said hello, made a little small talk and asked her where she was from. When she said she was Korean, I replied “Annyong haseyo” - the only Korean I knew at the time. She was genuinely surprised and the ice was officially broken. Belle asked me who the girl I was with was. “Oh that’s just my sister”, I said dismissively. My sister rolled her eyes and said “I’m outta here”.

We exchanged email addresses and parted ways. She had been visiting her grandparents and as I said goodbye, her grandfather gave me the side eye, which I still think is funny.

We would spend the next few years writing each other via snail mail and during that time maybe feelings got stronger. Being a part of her life is one of my fondest memories. One year, I sent her a snow globe of my hometown and a Norah Jones CD (the first one with “Come Away With Me”) and maybe the second one too. I don’t know if she ever got it because I never heard back from her.

I wrote back a couple of times. Nothing desperate sounding or long missives like this post. Just a “hey, I sent you something for Christmas. Let me know if you got it. I hope you like it. Missing you.”

The next one was a “hope you’re doing okay. Things are fine here. Write back soon…” type of letter.

Nothing.

Strange, considering the last thing she sent was a large greeting card that declared in big cartoony letters “Sarang-he” — I Love You.

The package I sent included a letter that reciprocated her feelings but the silence was crushing.

Over time, I came to accept the possibility that she lost interest and moved on with someone in the same city. Maybe she focused on her career or maybe she was pressured into stopping the relationship. Maybe her heart broke because she never received my messages and she thought I ghosted her. I don’t know. I didn’t push the issue because I didn’t want to make it awkward by harassing her for a response. Or maybe something happened to her? Like an accident? The thought terrified me. Her email address had long since been abandoned.

I moved on. I met someone new. She filled a void. She was nice but she had a habit of pushing me away. This is a habit I would pick up and is still something I’m trying to undo.

Every now and then I would try looking for her in various social networks over the next couple of years and came up with nothing. Although I’d taught myself Korean, I was nowhere near the level of skill needed for any kind of deep dive.

I let it go. There was just no point.

Time passed and things take a turn for the surreal.

I would have a recurring dream where I would be at school, or at work. Maybe while out shopping or out doing something. I would talk to someone in this dream and this person I don’t recognize would say, “Do you remember Heather Belle? She was just here.”

Any further responses to my questions were met with vague and conflicting information and I’d spend the rest of the dream looking for her.

I would have these dreams maybe once or twice a year.

Sometimes this would prompt me to look for her again and I would wonder why, after all this time I would still be haunted by her ghost.

The last time I had this dream was nearly two weeks ago just after New Year’s Day and it was the same as all the others except this time I was at a convention.

I decided to try again. I found one of her postcards and plugged it into google maps. I wasn’t expecting her to live in the same house but I can get an idea of what to expect in street view. The address showed me an apartment building and I knew there was no way she’s still there. But there was no indication the old address was a condo, apartment or even a multi-family home.

There was a button to show what this corner looked like in 2009 and it showed a single family home.

Like a hole in the water, her trail was gone.

I’ll try Facebook again, I thought. Instagram, too. Belle is a very common name so I’ll probably run into the same dead ends. After narrowing down a list of candidates in Instagram, I sent a query to two users.

I turned to Facebook and did the same. I had a short list of leads but one stood out. It had no selfies or personal pictures. It was scarcely updated and the last post was back in august 2020. The earliest post was 2016 which by that time I had long since abandoned Facebook (Instagram would follow three years later.) However, it said she worked at a news agency. She had told me in one of her letters that she was studying journalism.

I have nothing to lose. The worst that would happen is I’d run into another dead end and keep having these dreams in perpetuity. After a few drafts, I sent a message through messenger.

We had a brief conversation - we both needed to go to work but I think the overall tone was a happy one. I hope…

This happened Thursday, January 7, 2021.

To be fair, I know she has a busy job with hard deadlines and odd schedules. Add to that all the duties that married life brings and a 7-year old girl.

I get it. And I didn’t have any illusions that no one would put a ring on her finger. It’s fine and I’m very happy for her. I’m just glad that she’s okay and doing well for herself and told her as much. A couple days later I had a good cry out of sheer relief and that I was finally able to find her.

But I don’t know how to proceed now.

I haven’t heard back as of this post (nearly a week later).

She did say she wanted to meet again after the pandemic but I’m concerned that maybe she was being insincere. Or I may have opened a wound. Or perhaps I introduced an unwanted complication in her personal life. Maybe she is having second thoughts and thinks I have some kind of an ulterior motive. I don’t know.

I’m tempted to write back to apologize for any problems I might have caused and say that it’s not my intent to do so. I don’t know why I felt compelled to keep looking. Actually, I do know but I’ll get to that later.

I do know this: I want her to know that regardless of how we may have felt about each other in the past, we were friends first. She was my friend when we kept in touch, and I had always considered her to be my friend after we lost contact. I would not hesitate to call her friend for the rest of my life.

Even though we’re on opposite sides of the world, I would always want to be there for her with the good and the bad, because that’s what friends do.

Now, how do I say that without sounding creepy? Should I send another message?

How I found her was very difficult. But why I kept looking, even after we both moved on…

The why is easy. I would say,

“Because you’re worth it.”

#relationship #mental health #friendship #long reads #garbage #sting #coldplay #smashing pumpkins #alvvays #tool band #tom petty #bjorkmusic #strangers when we meet #the story of belle

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isolationship-journal · 4 years ago

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Congratulations from The Teen Advisory Board to our Inktober Contest winning submissions: "Fancy" by Zetta, "She's Just A Girl In The World" by Caleb, and "Blade" by Norah! These and all of the Inktober submissions will be featured in the next issue of TAB's zine, WaxPrint.

For more info about joining TAB, submitting to WaxPrint, and more fun stuff and contests, subscribe to this page or text/email the word "subscribe" to [email protected] to get on TAB's mailing list.

#quarantinelife #inktober2020 #art #zine #teens #library librarian libraries

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nadacwriter · 4 years ago

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OCtober (Belated) Day 2: Mercy

So, this will be my first piece using the Delstran universe, and what better way to introduce it than a prompt for @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober? None, I say!

MERCY provides a better look into Natalie, the ‘main character’ of my current Delstran story.

WORDS: 1322

Mercy

Natalie had a strange and complicated relationship with Mercy.

Mom's side of the family, made up of Mom and all of Natalie's sisters, were seen as kind. Healers, astronomers, some witches, some wizards, all loving and caring; they exuded mercy from themselves, helping everyone that was in their power to help.

“We're well off,” explained Mom, “So it's our duty to give to those who are more in need.”

Norah, Nat's eldest sister, had similar views:

“We can't just hoard our money. We have enough to live comfortably and to give away; it isn't one or the other.”

Mam's side of the family, though, made purely of Natalie and mam, the mother who birthed her, were both skilled duelists. And mercy didn't have much place in that line of work. Especially with Natalie's condition.

Mam explained as much…

“You're half Wraith. If you were half anything else, no one would care. But many opponents won't hesitate to kill you.”

Mam never told any of her OTHER daughters that, but, Mam wasn't teaching any of them how to duel. And none of them were half wraith.

It was while ruminating on this relationship with Mercy that Natalie got a knock on her door. It was weak, small...was it a mail rat? They were known for being...intrusive. But before Natalie could even give permission to enter the room, the door opened to reveal a rather sad sight.

Natalie's littlest sister, Charice. The little 10-year-old was well behaved, but known for causing Natalie some slight trouble with her mischief. But there was no knowing smirk on her ace this time, no glint in her eye or spring in her step. Just seemed to be...angry about something. She shut the door behind her, her arms crossed.

“I got a problem, Natalie, and I need your help.”

Natalie turned from her view out of the window and looked over, “Odd,” She started, “Did we start sharing rooms and Mom didn't tell me about it?” “Uuuuuugh, NAT!” Charice threw her hands down, throwing her head back, “I seriously need your help with something! It's...it's duel related.”

Natalie turned her chair fully to look at Charice, and crossed her legs. She placed her fingers together, like some crooked businesswoman.

“What Kind of duel related?”

Charice moved as she spoke, pacing and explaining her predicament.

“These kids at school keep bullying me for not being a good herbalist! I'm not even in the herbal school! I don't know WHAT school I wanna be in yet!”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I've tried EVERYTHING. I even snuck in here and stole that weird jar of red goop you had.”

“...that what?!”

“I splashed it on 'em and they didn't even die! They just smelled like paint.”

“y'know I'd usually be angry you took the nail polish,” Nat said, finally shifting in her seat, “But I'm honestly glad you didn't get your hands on my Dragon eye.”

Charice paused, looking over at Natalie with a look of serious concern. “...Can I borrow the-” “you are NOT using DRAGON EYE on some random kids who're bullying you. And you still owe me more nail polish.”

Charuce roaned, “Well then could you at least scare them off?! You got all kinds of weird stuff in your room!”

Natalie rose from her chair, “Just because I like to collect grim stuff doesn't mean you get to use it to scare kids.”

“Then what is it for?” “I...”

Before Natalie could answer that question, Charice was already gone on a new train of thought.

“Point is, I need you to scare some bullies.” “With dueling magic? That's dangerous.”

“Well...with a certain kiiiiind of dueling magic.”

Natalie looked on, quizzically, leaning forward. “You're not seriously suggesting...” Charice nodded, smiling, “It'd be cool!” Natalie shot up from her desk and took Charice by the hand. “No, Absolutely not, it's too dangerous.” Charice rolled her eyes, “Oh, come on! Just five seconds as a wraith? Please? No one will ever mess with me again!” “I SAID NO.” Natalie doubled down, placing Charice outside of the door. “A pendragon isn't a toy, Charice, it's a dangerous, horrible thing, and I don't want you getting tied up in it.”

Charice sighed. “Okay...”

Awwww, crap. Charice was still at that age where those little sibling eyes could get her anything she damn well wanted. Now, Natalie was not going to be swayed so easily by her, she wasn't gonna use a pendragon just because her kid sister said to.

But…

“There is...something...I have in mind...but if you tell Mom or Mam about it, you're dead. Hear me? Dead.”

Charice smiled up at her. “Deal.”

Charice knew what was going to happen...on her way home from school, she was gonna get picked on by the bigger kids who didn't like her for some reason. But this time, she had a trick up her sleeve. As she walked home, humming, the three older kids came out. As if on cue.

It was three older girls from some prep in town. Charice knew one of them was in the herbalism school, but not really what the other two did, or why they even hung around each other. They al looked so different…

“Sup, Gaine.” The ringleader, an older girl named Karina, often began the hunt like this. Her blond hair sat just below her neck, though it was often tied up. “Let me guess,” She continued, “You got some more nail polish for us?”

“Yeah, you still owe me a new shirt, Gaine.” The second girl, Theresa, was probably a healer judging by the red strip down her sleeve on the first day. Maybe.

The third was usually silent, but often intimidating. Charice hadn't even learned her name yet, like she'd ever need to.

“Ahhh, Karina! Theresa!...Third...third one!” Nailed it, Charice. “You should forgive me. I'm on my way home from a rather important duel.” “...what?” Asked Karina, her hands on her hips, “You're, like, 7 or something, how are YOU dueling?” She asked.

“Ahhh, y'know. When you're this skilled,” Charice went to a small button on the shoulder of her shirt, “It doesn't matter what age you are.” With a small flick and a humble but knowing smile, Charice revealed the most well decorated dueling cape any of the three girls had ever seen...raven black, with all sorts of stripes and patches on it. This was the shoulder cape of a true duelist, no random kid would have this many accolades.

“...woah...” Theresa looked on.

“...W-where'd you get those badges?” Asked the third girl, finally speaking up.

“Oh, what, THESE old things? Brammerlys I've won. This is my daily cape, I have a few of these.” She said, smirking, “Mainly, though, I get badges for fighting bullies.”

Suddenly, though no one else heard it, the girls heard a loud clap of thunder. The world was darkening around them, and all that was there was the glow of Charice's eyes. “you should count yourselves lucky,” she said, growing in size and meeting them at eye level, “I usually would have destroyed the three of you by now...but, y'know, I like to show little bit of mercy to people who aren't as good as me.”

That little angelic mile, and the world turned back to normal…

And the three girls just ran.

“Ha!” Natalie came out from behind a bush and took the cape button, putting it back into her pocket. “Glad they enchant those to fit the wearer...you did a good job.” Natalie said, ruffling Charice's hair.

Charice giggled, “I learned from the best!” She said. “Thanks for letting me borrow your cape...and sorry about almost making you use your pendragon on them.”

“Hey, there's nothing wrong with showing Mercy.' Natalie stretched a bit. “///you still owe me a new bottle of Nail Polish, though.”

Charice looked up, those little sibling eyes, yet again… “...Have some Mercy?” “...Not this time, Chari.” Natalie poked her forehead.

“Oof!”

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